


I Think It Might Be You

by hannahsoapy



Series: things I scribbled when I should've been studying [8]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alfred Pennyworth is a Saint, Alfred Pennyworth is the Best, Avengers Tower, F/M, Identity Reveal, POV Natasha Romanov, Secret Identity, she'll figure it out eventually, the other avengers are there but as supporting cast, tony sees right through them both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23325907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannahsoapy/pseuds/hannahsoapy
Summary: The first time she sees his real smile, her breath catches in her throat.
Relationships: Natasha Romanov (Marvel)/Bruce Wayne
Series: things I scribbled when I should've been studying [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1140392
Comments: 15
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I swear I sat down to write something else, and... this happened instead. Whoops. On the bright side, it is almost completely finished! The next two chapters just need some editing, and the last two are mostly written, so we'll have five chapters total :)
> 
> As far as timeframe, this starts sometime after Nat worked for Stark, but before the Avengers. Let's say it's while Clint and Coulson are in New Mexico, because they're mysteriously absent the first three chapters.

_I don't know what love is_

_If I can't have you here_

_I don't know what love is_

_I think that it's just fear_

.

.

Natasha Romanoff is an expert in smiles. She knows how to use them, and she knows how to read them. Which is why she knows that 'Brucie' Wayne isn't enjoying himself at this party.

He clearly wants everyone to think he is, judging by the two women on his arms, and the full glass of champagne he's holding, but his smiles are all shallow facades.

He's not who she's been assigned to follow tonight, but she finds herself watching him as much as she watches her target, wondering what that smile might hide.

By the last hour of the party, she has the information she needs, and she's only hanging around because Bruce is inexplicably still there, too. The two women on his arms earlier had left at some point, and she's not sure why he didn't go with them. It had certainly seemed to be his intent.

He's sitting alone by the bar when she slides onto the seat next to him. The bartender remembers what she ordered earlier and slides another down to her, and then she turns and gives Bruce a smile of her own – inviting, but not overly so.

He takes it.

"That's quite a drink," he says, speech drawling.

He's not wrong. She is drinking straight vodka.

"I have a high tolerance," Natasha says with a wink as she takes a swallow. It's good; whoever put on this party did not spare expense on the liquor.

"Party's almost over, y'know."

She glances over at him, arching one brow.

"And I can't enjoy it until the last minute?"

He smiles widely, sloppily. This one's not real, either.

"I'll drink to that."

She raises her glass to meet his.

"Where did your other companions go?"

There's the tiniest shift in his expression, but Natasha can't decide what it means.

"Ah," he says lazily, "they're models. Needed their beauty sleep."

He's not actually lying, and it intrigues her. Her attention is not usually so easily captured, and by such a man.

Bruce Wayne is one of the richest men in the world (and also the most generous, if you do enough digging), but by all accounts in the publicized media, he is one of the most dissolute, as well. She knows better than to rely on anything other than her own impressions, obviously, but media portrayal can be telling.

Her observations tonight have not been complete enough for her to form a good picture, and it frustrates her. They've been at this party five hours; she should have been able to make a full character report by now.

"What's your name?" Bruce interrupts her thoughts.

"Natalia," she says, not bothering with a last name.

"Natalia," he repeats, his voice dropping as he says it slowly. Natasha shivers imperceptibly. Maybe she shouldn't have used this alias. It's one of her more personal names, and the way he's savoring it in his mouth is affecting her far more than she'd like to admit.

"Well," he continues, his eyes turning dark, "what are you doing with the rest of your night?"

Natasha glances at him over the rim of her drink as she takes another sip, considering. It doesn't take long for her to decide.

"That depends on what you suggest."

Bruce's smile is more genuine than any other she's seen on his face tonight as he extends his hand to her.

* * *

He's very muscular, which isn't too surprising; he's a billionaire, and she's sure he has a personal trainer.

What does surprise her are the scars.

The lights are off as they undress, as she pretends to stumble a little trying to find the bed, hands busy exploring, but she knows what scars feel like.

She has enough of her own to know that at least one is from a bullet, and several more from knives, and broken bones.

"Had a few adventures?" she asks, keeping her voice light as her fingers softly slide down his side and over the uneven skin there.

She feels his slight hesitation before he kisses her again, stalling.

"I could say the same about you," he tells her neck, nipping lightly, and she feels his fingers circling the bullet wound above her navel.

Interesting, she thinks, but she files it away for later.

There's only one thing she wants to think about now, she decides, and with a gentle shove, she pushes Bruce back on the bed.

She pretends to doze, after, until he moves to get up.

She slides a hand through the sheets after his departing arm, mumbling something incomprehensive, and he twists to look down at her, and smiles.

Natasha keeps her eyes half-lidded, but what she does see makes her breath catch in her throat. This is his real smile, and now she sees why it has never made an appearance before. It's soft and open, vulnerable and delicate.

Natasha knows, instantly, that everything the rest of the world thinks they know about Bruce Wayne is wrong.

His eyes are gentle as he brushes a strand of her hair over her shoulder.

"I'll be back," he says, but she knows it is a lie.

She also knows he hates saying it.

But she doesn't call him out on it. She makes a satisfied humming sound, and lets her lids close again, feigning sleep once more.

Bruce pulls the covers up over her before he leaves.

The door shuts behind him, and she lets herself wonder about Bruce Wayne.

She hasn't had such a difficult time figuring someone out since Stark. It would bother her, but she likes a challenge.

And maybe she likes the side benefits, too, she thinks, with a smile, as she drifts into a real sleep.

* * *

She makes herself sleep an hour later than she is accustomed to the next morning, because most people don't wake up at half-past four in the morning.

She can't make herself stay in bed later, however, or she'll get a headache from coffee withdrawals. It's a liability to be dependent on such a little thing, she knows, but when she has the luxury, she allows it.

When she goes to take a shower, there are clothes waiting for her on the vanity, in her size, with the tags still on them. Her shower is quick, and when she pulls them on, she's impressed. They're comfortable, and they fit well.

She isn't at all surprised to find that Bruce is absent when she awakes, but she has no shortage of curiosity as to where he could have gone, and is disappointed that he's not there.

In the hall, her nose picks up the smell of breakfast, and she follows it to a kitchen, where a gray-haired man in an apron is flipping pancakes on the stove. There's also a coffeepot gurgling away on the counter next to him.

She clears her throat, and the man turns, smiling when he sees her.

"Good morning," he says, genuine kindness wrapped in a British accent. "You have excellent timing; these are just about done. Do have a seat."

Natasha obeys, sitting at one of the stools around the table. He plates a few pancakes, and slides them over to her. Syrup and butter quickly follow, and then a large mug of coffee.

She skips the rest in favor of a long drink of her favorite beverage, and sighs in contentment at the quality of the brew.

"Good?"

"Wonderful, thank you…"

He takes the hint.

"It's Alfred, my dear. I'm Mr. Wayne's butler."

"I see," Natasha says, smiling, "then I suppose it's you I probably have to thank for my clothes today."

"No need to thank me," he says, but she can tell he's pleased. "You wear them quite well."

"Alfred!" she cries, teasingly. He turns away, but she sees the corners of his mouth curve up.

She's had enough coffee now to start on her pancakes, and she digs straight in, with a hum of appreciation. Alfred really is a very good chef.

"Any chance I could convince you to cook me breakfast every day?" she asks, not entirely joking.

"I'm afraid not," he says seriously, but his eyes twinkle back at her in amusement.

"That leaves me no choice, then," Natasha says, in between bites, "I'll just have to marry you."

"Ah, I'm far too old for you," he says, with a chuckle.

She doesn't know how old he is, but she's pretty sure she's had sex with men older than him, so she just smiles and shrugs.

"Can I get the recipe, then?" she asks.

"Family secret," he proclaims.

"I'm doomed to disappointment," she sighs, drawing another laugh from the butler.

She's finished the pancakes by now, and all that's left is a few sips of coffee. Despite Alfred's friendliness, she doesn't feel like hanging around. She knows it would be an imposition on whatever his normal duties entail, and it seems Bruce has decided not to appear while she's there.

Alfred calls her a ride when she's done with her coffee, and she wishes him a fond farewell.

"Farewell to you too, Miss Romanova," he says. "And I do hope to see you again soon."

He sounds entirely sincere, and it's only much later that she realizes she never told him her last name.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's always admired the Bat of Gotham. He's ruthless and efficient in everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I probably (definitely) should have waited to post this and edited it a little more, or waited until my sister could, but I really liked how this chapter turned out and wanted to post it, so please excuse any errors (or point them out to me, especially if they're really stupid).
> 
> I also came up with a ship name but it might be terrible so tell me how you feel about 'WidowBat'.

_I don't know the tempo_

_Of my heart's concerto_

_It all seems like a dream_

_It's not, I know_

_There's something real out there for me_

.

.

Natasha had thought that she'd be leaving Gotham that morning, but unfortunately, the information she gathered on her target the night before had been rendered obsolete thanks to the activity of the Batman.

She'd be angry about it, but she's always admired the Bat of Gotham. He's ruthless and efficient in everything.

But it also means she's not going anywhere until she gets the information SHIELD needs. Her cover gains another layer as she plans her stay to potentially extend another week, and then she considers talking to the Bat.

She's heard that he is impossible to pin down, but she doesn't believe that. He's only a man - or an enhanced man, possibly, and she's sure he can't _literally_ vanish, as some reports claim.

So, she goes out the next night outfitted in her Widow costume, and waits.

It doesn't take long for the sounds of gunshots to echo across the city. Gotham is laden with crime.

She stealthily makes her way to the scene, and finds Batman already there, situation well in hand. Natasha doesn't interfere.

She hasn't met him before, but she's well aware of the vigilante's opinion on working with others. It's in the briefing every agent gets before they go into Gotham for the first time: if the Bat is on scene, let him handle it. SHIELD doesn't know who he is, but they know better than to bother him. Whoever he is, he's backed by a lot of money.

She knows he's aware of her presence. The pointed cowl momentarily swings in her direction, but it causes him no loss of momentum in his fight, which is over relatively quickly.

Natasha watches as he crouches beside the victim: a huddled, shivering young woman. She can't hear what he says, but the woman's body language relaxes significantly.

Compassion, she thinks, with some small sense of wonder.

The police sirens have been steadily getting closer, but the Bat stays by the woman until the first car pokes its nose around the corner, and then slides into the dark. Natasha doesn't see where he's gone, but she knows he's still nearby.

She waits for him to come to her, and he does.

He lands on the rooftop next to her in a rustle of dark fabric. The mask exposes his mouth, but it is stoic and unreadable. His eyes are concealed by the shadows, but she feels the weight of his gaze anyway.

"Black Widow," he says roughly, after a few seconds. "What do you want?"

Natasha shifts casually, and he stiffens. Interesting.

"SHIELD's looking into Marconi's… outside connections," she tells him. "If you hear anything -"

"I have," he says, abruptly. She raises a brow expectantly.

"Tomorrow night," he rasps, and then he dives off the edge of the roof, cape opening up so that he glides elegantly down to the street where his vehicle is parked.

He hasn't said where, or what time, but it doesn't matter.

* * *

There's another event she should be attending the next evening, but she thinks whatever Batman has in mind will be more productive than flattering the next man on the totem pole.

Sitwell will probably be upset with her for bucking orders, but if she's honest, she doesn't respect him as much as she should a handler. He's no Coulson.

It's barely dark in the city and she's on the rooftops, keeping an ear out for activity that might attract the Bat.

He finds her, instead.

A flutter of black material catches her eye, and she turns to see him on the next building over. He tilts his head, indicating he wants her to follow. She does.

Natasha's impressed; he moves quietly in what looks like a bulky costume. She lets herself speculate, for a moment, how much finely tuned muscle lies beneath that shroud, and then she shakes it off.

The Bat leads the way through the undercarriage of Gotham, and it ends with them slipping silently into a small, dark study. There's light under the door, and the sound of voices from it indicate there is some kind of meeting being held in the adjoining room.

Batman perches himself by the door, listening in on the discussion, and gestures toward some file cabinets behind an oak desk. Natasha is curious about the conference underway on the other side of the door, but she knows when to pick her battles, and instead she slides open the top drawer carefully and begins to go through the files.

It's a gold mine, of course. Taking the originals would alert the target, so she pulls out her phone and starts snapping photos, moving through the documents as quickly as she can.

She gets maybe a quarter of an hour before Batman makes a small movement, and she knows her time is up. She places the files back in their exact same positions, and they make their way out as stealthily as they made their way in.

"You have what you need," the Bat states, when they're a safe distance away, halfway across the city.

"Most likely," Natasha agrees. She's sure it's more than enough, and she's sure that he knows it, too.

Batman gives a curt nod. "Don't linger in Gotham," he warns, and then steps off the edge of the roof and is gone.

Well, to an ordinary person it would seem that he's gone. Natasha hears the quiet slide of his grappling hook being released, and the dark streets of Gotham do wonders to conceal his departure, but she knows he's still nearby, watching her as she makes her way back to her hotel.

She finds herself rather flattered by the attention.

* * *

After she's showered, Natasha decides she deserves a little fun before she leaves. The gala she was originally scheduled to attend has barely started; at this rate she'll only be an hour late, which is perfectly fashionable.

Once her mind is made up, it's barely a half-hour's work to slide herself into the appropriate attire and makeup and be on her way.

The party is a stark relief after all the work she's already put in today.

When she's not officially on the job, Natasha enjoys people-watching, and this is a petri dish of all her favorites.

That woman needs to marry for money, and she doesn't care to whom. The man she's talking to will fit the bill, but they'll be miserable. The one next to him has no money, but would probably make her happy.

Those girls just want to go home with someone. That man will probably take them both.

All the businessmen stand around with greedy eyes discussing tiny, insignificant details with big words. A woman moves through the fray, flattering here and there, and stealing riches with quick fingers. She doesn't need the money; she's doing this for fun.

Natasha sits at the bar with her vodka, sees everyone's secrets, and loves it.

Until Bruce Wayne walks in.

He's got the faintest of shadows under his chin, and he's escorting some fabulously beautiful lady, who he somehow passes off to another's arm within ten minutes of his arriving.

She can't get any further with him than she did the first time she saw him.

He's not here to take someone home. He's not here to make a business deal. All she knows is that his smiles beg to be believed, and she is the only one not believing them, and not knowing why.

Angrily, she finishes her glass, and gestures for another.

She finishes the second as Bruce spreads his false laughter around the room.

When she turns back after getting a third, he's sitting on the stool beside her grinning rather stupidly.

"Who're you smiling at?" she asks, too sharply, but she's done playing.

The false smile drops off his face.

"Well, aren't you a breath of fresh air," he says mildly, lifting his glass to her before taking a sip.

"What's your game here?"

His expression morphs into polite, bemused confusion.

"I'm enjoying the party."

Natasha purses her lips. He's not lying, but she knows many ways one can speak the truth and avoid it at the same time. She's not convinced.

"Want to get out of here?" he asks suddenly. Natasha looks at him suspiciously.

"Weren't you having fun?"

"You look like you aren't," he shrugs. "So?"

Something's dropped away, and though she can't put her finger on it, she knows this is really Bruce.

"Sure," she says. "Let's go."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She thinks she would have hated it if he'd looked at anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my favorite chapter. You're probably all going to hate me by the end of it, but it's my favorite. Also, if you've never driven a car with a manual transmission... you're missing out!

_I swear I've seen an angel_

_A paradise in blue_

_Every color I choose_

_But I don't know what love is_

_But I think it might be you_

.

.

The valet brings around his car, and Natasha is impressed. It's sleek and clearly expensive, but understated.

It's also got a manual transmission, she notes, eyeing the stick with interest as she slides in, the valet shutting the door behind her.

Bruce notices her admiration, of course, and smirks at her as he throws it into gear.

"Where are we going?" she asks, as he smoothly navigates them through the city.

"It's a surprise," he says, a hint of a smile playing at his lips.

Natasha hates deflection, but she lets it slide this time. She doesn't really care where they end up.

When they reach the edge of the city, Bruce slows, pulling into an empty parking lot and stopping.

"Well, this is… interesting," she says, dryly. Bruce just looks at her.

"I thought you might like to drive."

"Yes," Natasha says, not bothering to hide the excitement that makes her voice breathier than she'd normally be comfortable with.

He smiles back, obviously pleased.

She gets out at the same time he does, and they trade seats.

Natasha takes her heels off once she's in the driver's seat, and hands them to Bruce. She can drive in them, of course, but she wants to _feel_ this car.

"Take good care of those," she instructs Bruce, adjusting the seat and settling her bare feet on the pedals with satisfaction.

"Yes, ma'am," he says seriously.

She taps the accelerator before she shifts out of neutral, and the engine revs happily.

"Where to?" she asks Bruce, and he nods at the road he'd turned off of.

"Make a right."

He presses a button on the dash as she makes the turn, and the top rolls back, letting the warm night air brush over them.

The road, several lanes wide while it was going through Gotham, quickly shrinks to two as they leave city limits.

"What's the speed limit out here?" Natasha asks. She doesn't remember seeing a sign.

"How fast do you want to go?"

She grins at him sharply, and shifts. The car leaps forward, pushing Bruce back violently into his seat, but he just laughs.

Natasha nearly loses her grip at the sound - it's the first she's heard it unaffected - but instead she hits the clutch, shifting again, and again, all the way to up to sixth, pulling that sound from his throat over and over.

She watches the road, but instead of occasionally glancing at the speedometer, she looks at Bruce instead, his eyes closed and head flung back against the headrest, wind ruffling his hair out of style.

The road winds up through some hills, taking its time, and then hits the coastline, following the clifftops.

Bruce sits up when the smell of saltwater hits them, and after a minute he points and says, "Right, there."

Natasha spies the turnoff, only a hundred meters ahead, and slows just barely enough to make it. The tires kick up a cloud of dust behind them as she guides the car down the little dirt track.

It makes a few turns through trees, and then opens to the edge of the cliff.

Natasha brakes roughly, not having expected the road to end so soon, and then slowly opens her door, stepping out onto the dirt barefooted. It crunches beneath her feet, but not painfully.

Bruce is already out of the car, standing looking out at the view, leaning back against the hood. She walks up next to him and copies his position.

This section of the coastline juts out past Gotham, and from the top of the cliffs she can see the entire city glittering darkly, and the ocean reflecting back what little light it collects.

Somewhere below them, she can hear the waves dancing back and forth.

"Beautiful," Natasha says at last, although she hates to break the silence.

"Yes," Bruce agrees, and he smiles, with that same fragility and tenderness she saw the other night.

If this were one of those paperback novels Clint pretends to hate, Natasha thinks, Bruce would have turned to look at her instead at the view while he said that, but he didn't. He's still looking at the distant city lights as she examines his profile against it.

She thinks she would have hated it if he'd looked at anything else.

She tries to look back at the dimly glimmering city again, but her eyes are inevitably drawn back to him, and eventually, he catches her at it.

"Bored?" he asks, smile slipping and something like disappointment replacing it.

"No."

The firmness of her response seems to take him by surprise, and his gaze flicks to meet hers. There's a charge building in the warm air, like heat lightning, but Natasha shivers.

They break at the same time, moving forward, lips and teeth crashing as they try to devour each other.

Natasha slides her hand inside his jacket and undoes enough shirt buttons to find his bare skin. It's his turn to shiver, and he pulls back for a second, looking down at her with blown pupils.

"Do you - "

"Here is fine," she says, cutting him off, and his mouth curls up before it meets hers again.

The hood of a car is much different than a bed, not that Natasha has extensive experience on the former, but she can say that although neither of them are very interested in drawing things out, it's equally as satisfying at the end.

Clothes rumpled and scattered, they lie back against the hood and catch their breath.

They're too close to the city to see many stars, but the few that have made an appearance glow all the brighter.

She turns her head to look at Bruce, and sees that his eyes are closed. Natasha has no idea if he's asleep, but she wants him to be. She has a sudden, inexplicable urge to move closer, run her fingers through his hair, rest her chin on his shoulder, breathe in the smell of his sweat and cologne mingling together.

When his lids lazily lift up, she crushes that feeling back, deep down.

She doesn't know what this is, but she's sure she can't have it.

He looks over at her, so serene, it's as if he's a different person. There's something happening, and he's starting to give her that smile, the one he so easily gave to Gotham not twenty minutes ago.

It frightens her, that he bestows it so easily.

"Drop me off?"

She hates herself for saying it. The veil drops back down over his face again, shutting her out.

"Of course," he says, like he'll do anything for her, but she knows that's not true. She's shattered whatever trust she earned here, and she can't even blame him.

The atmosphere isn't tense, but it's not relaxed anymore, either, and he doesn't offer to let her drive back to the city. He rolls the top back up before they leave the cliff, and the ride back is silent.

He gets out of the car, when they reach her hotel, to open her door for her.

"Goodbye, Bruce," she says gently, hoping he hears her regret.

"Natalia," is all he says, but then he surprises her. He leans forward, and leaves the softest of caresses on her cheek with his lips.

There's a hint of sadness in his eyes as they meet hers one last time, and then he's gone.

Natasha watches him drive away and wonders why it hurts so much.

She's back in New York the next day, and Sitwell is beyond pleased, but despite his praises, she's not happy.

She feels like there's something she forgot in Gotham.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Batman," she says, acknowledging him with a nod. The rest of the team does an about-face on a dime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made one of my brothers read this, and he said, "A little too sappy for me but plenty of other people like that." Such a ringing endorsement, lol.

_If I had the courage_

_I'd know just what to do_

_Sometimes I have to crawl_

_And everyday I fall_

_Tryin' just to stand by you_

.

.

SHIELD keeps her busy in the coming months - not that she's ever taken personal days unless she's forced, either by medical, or, on one memorable occasion, because she failed a psych eval. Not even her SHIELD therapist was ready to talk about _that_ yet.

Even if she had taken a day, she wouldn't have gone back to Gotham. What would she have done there?

Found Bruce, her mind supplies, and apologized, maybe. But then what? They barely knew each other. She's an assassin, a spy. He's a billionaire running a worldwide corporation. All they did was have sex. Twice.

Really great sex, she amends, but it doesn't mean anything.

Well. Perhaps the sex itself hadn't really meant that much, but it had been more than just that, even if she doesn't want to admit it to herself.

The sound of her cell ringing pulls her out of her own head. She answers it silently.

"We've got a situation," Fury says, and she's already moving. "Hangar five."

No response is necessary. He's already hung up. She tugs on her shoes, secures her Bites around her wrists, and is out the door.

They do, indeed, have a situation, she thinks, grimly, as Fury attempts to throw a bunch of feral cats calling themselves superheroes together in a cage.

Banner and Stark, at least, get along. The rest of them are perfectly happy to light up and watch the fuses burn.

She suspects Fury of subterfuge the second he gestures at the blood-stained collectible cards, but she says nothing. Better to use the advantage of unity than waste it with the truth.

There's an alien army about to invade and there are only six of them against it.

Stark flies ahead, but he joins the rest of them on the ground when they arrive.

And someone else does, too.

She's the first to notice him, lingering on the edge of a shadow.

"Batman," she says, acknowledging him with a nod. The rest of the team does an about-face on a dime.

"Batman?" Stark exclaims. "What are you doing here?"

The Bat points up at the giant portal that's opening to reveal the alien army about to swoop in.

"They won't stop here if you lose," he says, and Natasha can't stop her lips curving a little at the sound of his familiar growl.

She's missed the charm of Gotham, just a little.

"Good to have you, then," Rogers nods. "Stark, you got a spare comm unit?"

Batman shakes his head. "No need," he says, gruffly. "I'm already in."

Stark splutters. "Wha - how?!"

"Ironman!" Rogers says. "Alien army. Questions later."

"Yessir," Stark salutes lazily, and blasts off into the sky.

"Right," Rogers sighs, and begins to shoot off orders to the rest of the Avengers before turning to Batman. He opens his mouth, but the Bat has already pulled a grappling gun from his belt and shoots it straight up.

Natasha follows its trajectory upwards, and is entirely unsurprised when it hits the perfect center of one of the alien speeders, giving the Bat a lift.

She and Rogers, the only ones left on the ground, brace for the approaching wave of Chitauri.

They end up working together well. The team's not perfect, but they're much better than they should be, and leagues better than some SHIELD teams she's had to try and quickly mesh with.

It's been a while since she fought like this. She had forgotten how exhilarating it could be, how blissfully mindless, and she loses all sense of self and time, fully focused on the movements her body needs to make.

When she hears Selvig announce that he built in a failsafe with the scepter, she makes a quick assessment, and decides she's probably the best option.

"I'm on it. Give me a boost?" she asks Rogers, eye on an approaching alien speeder. He picks up on what she wants immediately, and crouches with his shield.

Natasha runs, jumps, touches the center of the star, and he launches her into the air with perfect timing. She takes down one of the Chitauri by slicing through the chain that's keeping him secured to the speeder, and the other she stabs in the chest with her bites.

As she steers it back to the tower, there's a _thunk_ as something hits the bottom of the craft, and she peers just far enough over the edge to see a familiar flutter of black. She smiles as she moves back behind the controls.

Natasha doesn't bother to try for a graceful parking job, choosing instead to run and jump off the back of the speeder as they pass over the Tower. She lands on Stark's balcony, and sees the Bat roll to a stop on the other side of it. He's timed his landing better; the scepter is right next to him. As soon as she stands he tosses it to her.

She catches it, and decides it would be a waste of time to ask why he doesn't want to do the honors. They start to make their way to the roof together, but when a group of Chitauri come after them, he gestures for her to go ahead.

She doesn't hesitate to leave him there to fight them off by himself. She's sure he knows what he can handle.

"You just have to touch the Tesseract with it," Selvig says when she runs onto the roof, eagerly gesturing at the otherworldly cube, surrounded by a blue, glowing force-field.

Natasha holds the scepter at the ready and braces herself.

"I can close it," she reports.

"Uh, can we hold off on that?" Stark asks.

"What?" Rogers asks, incredulously, before Natasha can say it herself.

"I have a, um, _tiny_ nuclear problem and I think I know just where to put it."

"Stark," Rogers says, the pain evident in his voice, "that's a one-way trip."

"We don't know that, actually, so -"

"Don't be an idiot, Ironman," Batman growls, his deep voice loud over the comm.

"What is it, Batsy, you got something better?"

"Yes."

Natasha sees it: small, sleek, and, of course, black, speeding in quickly. The little unmanned plane catches up to Ironman just as he reaches the portal. The transition is smooth; Stark drops away and it takes his place. She can't see how it grabs a hold of the warhead, but it does, somehow, and guides it up, through the portal and beyond.

They all wait, one beat, two, three.

"We're good," Batman says.

"Shut it down, Widow," the Captain promptly orders, and Natasha pushes the scepter forward gratefully.

The moment the tip of the scepter hits the Tesseract, the portal begins to close, but it's an enormous effort to keep it there. The cube resists, pushing back against her almost overwhelmingly.

She looks up into the sky, hoping the portal will close quickly, but she's disappointed. It's closing at the speed of a snail, and the pressure from the cube threatens to rip her shoulders clean off. Sweat drips into her eyes and she hisses at the sting, but welcomes the pain from anywhere except her arms.

There's a slight noise behind her, and she's unable to look, just left hoping that it is friend and not foe.

An arm slides in to join hers on the scepter, a solid presence materializing at her back. The load is immediately halved, and the black gauntlets make who's come to her rescue quite obvious.

Together, they press the tip in deeper, and the portal snaps closed. The pressure dissipates the moment it's shut, and Natasha nearly falls forward from the abrupt loss. She catches herself on the Bat's still extended arm. She doesn't try to fool herself for a moment that he hadn't left it there on purpose.

A few deep breaths, and she stands straight again, gives him a thankful nod.

It's odd to be able to see his eyes in the light, but his mask is complete, and they give away nothing.

Still, there's something familiar about that expression, but her blood is rushing, her body aching, her head starting to pound, and she's too weary to connect the dots even though she knows they must be right in front of her.

"Anyone want some shawarma?" Stark asks, into the dead silence on the comms.

Nobody answers, still caught in the post-battle lull.

"I saw a place, down the street," he continues, "No idea what it is, but it sounds good."

Natasha hears Clint snort, and it breaks the rest of the team. She mutes her comm and glances over at the Bat.

"Join us?" she asks him. She's sure there would be no objections from the others. Especially not Stark.

He shakes his head. She's disappointed, but she did expect it.

"Maybe some other time," he rasps, and she knows an empty promise when she hears one.

He strides away, to the edge of the building, and drops.

She resists the urge to run to the edge and look after him, but for a minute, she lets her eyes linger on the space where he'd been.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't know, you kinda smiled at him when he showed up!" Stark throws his arms up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a song I really love came on while I was writing, and if you've heard it there's a line towards the end that you might notice that I repurposed. If you don't notice it... go listen to He Llorado (Como un Nino). Apologies for the lack of proper accents there, I don't have a Spanish keyboard on my laptop :/
> 
> I've really had a lot of fun writing these two - so much fun I might have to write this pair again! Please enjoy the last chapter, and drop a review to let me know that you did :)

_I swear I've seen an angel_

_A paradise in blue_

_Every color I choose_

_But I don't know what love is_

_But I think it might be you_

.

.

"Hey, where'd Batsy go?" Stark asks, after they've secured Loki and they're sprawled around a table at the little Middle Eastern restaurant he'd wanted to go to.

It really is good shawarma, and Natasha's in the middle of a bite when she realizes the question was directed at her.

"Why would I know?" she shrugs, after chewing and swallowing. "Gotham, probably."

She takes another bite, but everyone's still looking at her.

"Wait, really? You don't know?" Stark is apparently the spokesperson here.

"No," Natasha says, trying for calm. "Why would you think I do?"

"Er, he liked you?"

She looks at Stark incredulously, and he tries again.

"You like him?"

If this shawarma wasn't so good she'd throw it at him. She settles for a glare, instead.

"I don't know, you kinda smiled at him when he showed up!" Stark throws his arms up.

"Oh, I see," Natasha says dryly, "I go five minutes without punching someone and I must like them."

"Yeah," Clint says next to her, and for a second she thinks he's taking Stark's side, but then he continues, "I mean, the first time we met you kicked me in the face. That's how I knew we were never meant to be."

She rolls her eyes at him and he grins, open and honest.

The conversation moves thankfully past her, since Thor has taken Clint's speech seriously, going on about someone he calls his 'Lightning Sister', and an Asgardian warrior named Lady Sif who Natasha thinks she definitely needs to meet.

Stark and Clint are just falling about laughing, and Banner and Rogers are attempting to explain Earth customs, and she takes another bite of shawarma and thinks that this is all very strange, but also kind of nice.

She only misses the Bat a little.

* * *

It's Natasha that gets sent to Stark Tower by Fury the next day in order to attempt to drag him to a debriefing session, because she's apparently the best equipped to deal with Stark. It's true, but it doesn't mean she likes it.

The elevator is taking an extremely long time to show up, which she knows is entirely on purpose. Hoping that Stark is just waiting on her facade to crack a little, she sighs loudly and looks around the lobby, feigning impatience.

Her gaze catches on someone just walking in. It's Bruce.

He sees her immediately, but for the first time since they've met he doesn't try anything. There are no fake smiles or unreadable masks.

He hides nothing, and she can only stare.

It's obvious now that he's out of Gotham. New York offers him no shadows to shelter in. She's almost ashamed of herself for not figuring it out already, but instead she feels a quiet vindication. She's met someone who can beat her at her own game.

He's looking back at her evenly, waiting for her move. They're two of the same, and he knows that she's figured it out.

"Were you already in New York?"

"I had a business meeting with Stark," he says, "before… all this."

She nods as the elevator finally arrives. He lets her get on first, and she waits until he's in before she presses the button they both need.

They both stand with backs against the wall, facing straight forward, not looking at each other.

"And now?" she asks, curiously.

"Now… we might have a few other things to discuss."

Although she's still only watching him in the periphery, she can see how stiffly he's holding himself, knuckles white where they're gripping the handrail.

Natasha feels warm all over, inexplicably nervous.

"How is Alfred?"

He relaxes, minutely.

"Cranky."

She lifts a brow, and risks shooting him a glance. Their eyes meet, and then just as quickly turn away again.

"Apparently," Bruce says, "I'm not appreciative enough of his cooking."

She doesn't doubt that it's Alfred that's nagged him into taking this risk, into coming to the Tower, and she's immensely grateful.

"Well," she says, "if it helps, I'm willing to come by and compliment his cooking anytime."

His head jerks up, just a little. Natasha might have felt pleased about startling him if her blood hadn't been rushing so loudly in her ears.

"I was under the impression," he speaks slowly, carefully, as if testing every word before it leaves his mouth, "that you didn't…"

He trails off. She's not sure if he can't find the right word, or if he can't bring himself to say it. She decides to spare him.

"No, I do," she tells him, and their eyes gravitate towards each other again.

She understands, now, why she could never get a read on him before. The thing with people like her - like Bruce - is that they live their lives precisely. Their guards are never down unless they wish it, and when they are, every small concession feels like baring their souls.

In his expression, she sees everything she expected, and everything she'd hoped for, and she assumes he sees the same in hers.

They can't look at each other like this for long. It's too much. For both of them. All too soon, their eyes are redirected elsewhere, but she can't help the smile that's tugging at the corners of her mouth, and she can see, on the edge of her periphery, that he's struggling with the same problem.

When the elevator reaches the level of Stark's workshop, she hesitates to move. Bruce takes a half-step forward, and then pauses to look at her.

"Shall we?" he asks, tilting his head.

She doesn't have to say anything. Her smile is giddy and bright, like a child who sees the sun in the summertime, and his own, which blooms slowly in response, is no less genuine in its mimicry.

She reaches out, steals his hand from his side, and leads him from the elevator.

He doesn't try to take it back.


End file.
